


King Arthur Flour

by thegirlnamedcove



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Cute, Derek is homeschooled, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, Misunderstandings, Pre Sterek, Sheriff Stilinski is a Good Parent, Stiles has sex ed with Greenberg, now that's a tragedy, sterekmeetcute, sterekweek2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-23 22:43:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12518240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlnamedcove/pseuds/thegirlnamedcove
Summary: “The point of the assignment is to show you how stressful it can be to have to cart a baby around. Maybe make you think twice about skipping the condoms when the need arises. I want that lesson to stick, so you’re bringing that bag of flour with you.”Yup. Dad was using his sheriff voice. He'd be taking the flour.





	King Arthur Flour

**Author's Note:**

> This is so short! But a meet cute is really just the meeting so.... *shrugs*

Motherfucking Greenberg was the worst person to end up partnered with on a project. Plenty of people slacked off, Stiles was used to that. He could deal with it. But Greenberg had fucking  _ left town _ , wouldn’t be back for three days, and Stiles was stuck here with a sack of flour and the whole home ec project to complete by himself.

At least it wasn’t an animatronic baby, like some of the swankier high schools got to use. Those things couldn’t be tossed on the beanbag chair in the corner and ignored all evening while he played xbox.

“Stiles! Heading out!” his dad called from downstairs. He tossed the controller down and headed for the stairs, taking them two at a time until he spilled out into the kitchen.

“Have a good shift, dad. Got your lunch?”

The sheriff held up the insulated cooler and smiled, soft and warm.

“Grocery day tomorrow, remember to make a list.”

Stiles scoffed, “Please, old man, I’ve had a list for days. Proper planning prevents piss poor performance.”

The sheriff rolled his eyes and cuffed him gently on the shoulder.

“Don’t say piss. Hey, if you’re not up to anything tonight maybe you could pick up the groceries? Then with out free time tomorrow maybe we could catch a movie together. Make good use of the day off.”

“Yeah,” Stiles beamed, “Sure, definitely. That sounds amazing.”

“It’s a plan, then,” he headed towards the door, fishing his keys out of his pocket, but stopped just before stepping outside, “Oh, and Stiles? Bring the flour when you go out.”

“Ugh! Why?! It’s not like the teacher can tell if the thing has seen the inside of a Fred Meyer's.”

“The point of the assignment is to show you how stressful it can be to have to cart a baby around. Maybe make you think twice about skipping the condoms when the need arises. I want that lesson to stick, so you’re bringing that bag of flour with you.”

And oh fuck, sheriff voice. He didn’t quite snap into obedience like when he was a kid, but something about it still set him on edge and he ducked his head and nodded.

“Yes, dad.”

“Good,” he smirked, “Maybe pick up some condoms, too. Just so we have them on hand.”

“Dad!”

 

***

 

“Okay, Arthur,” he stared at the flour buckled into the passenger seat with a grim expression, “It’s go time.”

He hopped out and grabbed a cart before settling Arthur in the front. He even buckled the damn thing in and nudged it up toward the leg holes. His dad was right, he needed to take this seriously. Even if he was a single parent whose partner had fucked off to Tampa. He’d include that in the final write up, for sure.

He got fewer strange looks than he expected, though, coasting from produce to seafood and narrating the whole journey to a fake ten pound baby. It was probably just that most people in town were just used to him chattering away at nothing and couldn’t tell the difference. Or maybe they’d seen other kids from his school in the same predicament that week. Either way, he was glad he wouldn’t be hassled, and he even picked up some condoms for under the bathroom sink. Let the old ladies at the register judge him all they wanted, he was the sheriff’s kid and he was practical as fuck. He’d even read online about how you could convert one into a dental dam.

Finally, with his cart full to bursting, he got in line to check out.

“Little baby foo foo, jumping through the forest,” he sang under his breath, rocking the bag of flour left and right in its seat, “Stiles comes up and boops you on the head.”

The line ticked forward and he glanced up from his singalong. His eyes shot open.

Holy fuck. That guy was hot. And, by the looks of it, Stiles’ age. How did he not know that guy?

“Would you like a stepdad, Arthur?” he murmured, “Nope, that was weird. I need to stop.”

He pushed himself up to his full height and ran his hands through his hair. Hot guy hadn’t noticed him yet, he didn’t think, so he fussed with his hair, his shirt, his facial expression, to make sure he was as alluring as he could be. Whoever mystery man was, he was more beautiful than any seventeen year old in the throes of hormones had a right to be, and Stiles would not let the opportunity pass him by.

The line ticked forward again, just one more woman buying cigarettes, and then within five minutes of silently freaking out he was there. Staring at him. Not having his stare returned.

He coughed to get the guy’s attention, and when it didn’t work he cleared his throat.

Hot guy looked up from scanning Stiles’ pile of deli cheese and quirked an eyebrow.

“Something wrong?”

“No, no. I just...wanted to say you’re doing a good job. At that. You’re good at your job.”

He snorted and dropped his gaze back to the scanner, “My job is dumping stuff in bags without breaking it and dealing with assholes. Not rocket surgery.”

Stiles snorted and fought to keep a smile off his face. This guy was  _ perfect _ .

“So, are you new in town?” Stiles asked, “I haven’t seen you before, I don’t think.”

“No, but I’m, um...homeschooled,” he looked awkward suddenly, his face pulling into a grimace, “That’s probably weird but...I just always have been. Maybe next year I can go to public school, though.”

“Oh, yeah? Well if you do I’d be happy to introduce you to the ways and times of Beacon Hills High.”

Hot Guy smirked and kept bagging, and Stiles fist-pumped in his mind. He practically had it in the bag, Hot Guy was eating his terrible lines up!

“Oh, you forgot something,” he gestured at the cart, and Stiles furrowed his brow trying to figure out what.

“Pardon?”

“The flour?”

“Oh!” Stiles nodded, “That’s not your flour. That’s my flour.”

Derek squinted at him.

“Yeaaaah, it’ll be your flour, once you pay for it.”

“No, I…” Stiles patted the bag on its top, “I brought this flour from home. This is my flour.”

They stared each other down for a minute, competing it seemed for sternest face that can’t grow facial hair before Derek huffed.

“You brought flour from home, to a grocery store, so you could push it around in a cart but not buy it?”

“I already bought it. Or, well, someone bought it. This is my baby, Arthur!”

He hefted it up onto his hip in a cradle hold, as if to demonstrate. Surely Derek knew about flour baby assignments. Or, actually, if he was homeschooled maybe he didn’t. It certainly seemed like he didn’t because the next thing out of his mouth was:

“Yeah, I don’t believe you.”

He picked up the phone next to his station and hit one of the speed dial options. It couldn’t have rung more than once before he was speaking into it, all brusque business.

“Can I get security at stall eight, we’ve got a negotiator over here.”

“A...what?”

Derek hung up the phone and leveled Stiles with a glare.

“A negotiator. As in, you’re trying to talk your way out of paying for stuff.”

“What? I...this is my baby!”

“Uh-huh.”

“Look!” he shifted the bag higher and shook it slightly, little puffs of white bursting from each corner, “This is Arthur. I couldn’t leave him home because you’re not allowed to leave your flour baby without a sitter!”

“Uh-huh.”

“I know it sounds crazy, but everyone does this. This is a very normal behavior.”

“Oh look,” Derek waved at someone over Stiles’ shoulder and when he looked behind him he saw a guy in plainclothes and dark sunglasses approaching, “It’s Jim You-Are-No-Longer-My-Problem, from security. You can explain it to him.”

“I--come on, man--” Stiles sputtered.

“Hey there, Stiles! Keeping out of trouble, I see.”

He groaned and rubbed at his forehead.

“Hey Uncle Jim.”

Derek raised his eyebrows, “You two know each other?”

“Him and my dad were in the service together,” he flapped a hand in Jim’s direction, “He’s at like every holiday. And he is one hundred percent going to tell my dad about this, aren’t you, Jim?”

“You bet, kid. So what’s going on here?”

Derek shrugged, “Pretty typical, he left something in his cart that he didn’t want to pay for, tried to distract me by flirting, then came up with some stupid story when I noticed the food in his cart.”

“Uh-huh,” Jim narrowed his eyes at Stiles and his jaw set in a hard line. Stiles was in so much trouble later, he knew it already, “What was he trying to steal, exactly?”

“Just flour that I noticed,” Derek pointed at the bag, “but there could be more on the bottom.”

Jim glanced down and then did a double take to check what it was before breaking out in a grin.

“Aw, man, you got that baby thing too!”

“What?” Stiles said, and Derek mimicked him a moment later.

“My Ralphie has that, although he just leaves it on the kitchen table. Doesn’t really give a shit, and I can’t say I blame him.”

“Still a better job than some people in our class," Stiles rolled his eyes, "My fake husband left me for a family reunion in Florida. And you know dad, he isn’t going to let this learning opportunity pass by. I am as committed and committed can be, no excuses.”

“What?” Derek repeated, but Jim just flagged him off.

“It’s okay, Derek, he brought that flour from home. I recognize it.”

“You...what? Wha--”

“Code orange in menswear, code orange in menswear,” the overhead announcement rang out, and Jim craned his head to see down an adjoining aisle.

“Shit, I gotta go. Nice seeing you, Stiles!”

“I’m so confused,” Derek whispered.

“Me too, man. I just…” he took a deep breathe, screwed his courage to the sticking place. He could salvage this disaster, “So you know, the flirting was real. Maybe if you go out to coffee with me, we could both explain ourselves. Then explain other things to each other, like our ice cream flavors or our sexual preferences.”

Nope, still a disaster. Miraculously, though, Derek’s smirk slowly slipped back into place, and he caught Stiles’ eye for the first time since he’d noticed the bag of flour.

“Oh, I think I know what your answer will be on both counts,” he reached down to the belt and grabbed the condom box off the top, holding it up where Stiles could see, “Blueberry lemon.”

Stiled turned an effusive shade of red and dropped the bag of flour.


End file.
